


All I Want Is You (Up On Me)

by pandame (wasted_wallflower)



Series: Contamination And It's Side Effects [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Cultural Differences, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26412430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasted_wallflower/pseuds/pandame
Summary: The metal rail was hard, but Shran pressed down harder, his hands warping it into something unusable and Archer really wished that Shran’s strength wasn’t as much of a turn-on as it was. Unfortunately, some part of his treacherous brain enjoyed it, and he held up his hands, attempting to placate his angry, possessive-as-hell Andorian boyfriend.“Want me all to yourself, huh?” He teased, his tone coming out breathless. Shran snarled.“I want to fuck you through the wall.”Oh. Well then.Shran and Archer are ambassadors on a joint mission, during which Archer is propositioned. Shran is displeased, immensely. Being Shran, it goes about as one would imagine.
Relationships: Jonathan Archer/Thy'lek Shran, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Contamination And It's Side Effects [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919746
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	All I Want Is You (Up On Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oliveotter413](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliveotter413/gifts).



> Beebs, here’s a second gift for your actual birthday. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> This is the sequel I swore I wouldn’t write. If you want plot, there is a good bit that's in the form of domesticity and some relationship conflicts, but I'm here for the porn as well. Archer’s voice was a little difficult to write, so I hope I was able to capture it with some accuracy (I hope it’s not too bantery or the tone/pacing is weird). Also, by no means am I attempting to portray Shran’s possessiveness as abusive, but rather as a difference between Andorian and Human ways of expressing affection. 
> 
> The joint-ambassador aspect is inspired by CosmicOcelot’s fic _Stelliferous_. Go read it; it's glorious and made me feel actual emotions for once.
> 
> Trigger warning: the dubious consent tag refers to the interaction between Archer and the other ambassador. I will note it with a +/- sign if you would prefer to skip it. **Everything between Archer and Shran is consensual.**

Dating an Andorian was _interesting_. 

Archer was sure that Hoshi could come with more descriptive, better adjectives to describe his current situation - in more than 40 languages to boot - but none would encapsulate the force of nature that was Shran. 

He pressed his hand against his hip bone, where Shran had lavished attention with sharp teeth and teasing lips and tongue until a bruise formed. Remnants of bruises and bite marks from their fevered frenzy lingered, and as loathe as he was to admit it, Archer didn't want them to fade entirely. Shran had, quite literally, fucked his brains out until he had become a wanton, quivering mess of need, and smirked when Archer mentioned it in bed. 

"Jonathan," he drawled, "there's no need to be embarrassed. Besides, how else are people supposed to know that you're mine?" 

_Mine._ The word echoed in Archer's head, bouncing around like a pinball in a pinball machine, and he felt himself flush, a rapid spread of heat that went from the tip of his ears down to his chest. 

"As long you're mine as well." He confessed. Shran's predatory smile was answer enough, his kiss more so, and then it became very evident that the rest of the night would not be spent sleeping. 

Their relationship wasn't all sex, which was unexpected. He knew the importance of Shran's "Andorianness" to speak; he lived and breathed his culture with a sort of vicariousness Archer had never seen, and insecurity crept in, insidious. Logically _(and God, wasn't that a Vulcan thing to think)_ , he knew that Shran chose to be with him, and only him, but the change between an expected four-person marriage and dating an _alien_ in a strictly monogamous relationship nonetheless, must have been jarring. 

"Am I enough?" Archer had once asked, his voice small. He hated how meek, how cowardly he sounded in that instant, and Shran shook him again, his blue eyes ice cold with an emotion that Archer could not define. 

"I told you, I think about you all the time. I still do. When I'm away from my ship, I sleep in your bed. I eat meals with you. I play with Porthos. I'm with you, _Jonathan_." He pinched his nose and sighed, the oddly human gesture looking out of place on his undeniably alien face. "If that isn't enough for you, I don't know what else you want." Standing up, Shran looked down at him; the expression on his face was indiscernible. "Talk to me when you get your head on straight." 

The statement stung. Shran's _dismissal_ stung.

They went to bed, their backs touching, refusing to look at each other. 

"You're cold." Archer finally commented, enjoying Shran's answering snort. 

"Pinkskin," the nickname that Archer once detested slipped out with a hint of playful mockery, "if you think I'm cold, you wouldn't be able to stand Andoria, even during the summer." 

"Even during the summer? You underestimate me, Thy'lek Shran." 

Shran turned to look at him, a challenging glint in his eyes. Archer knew that glint - it screamed trouble. _"I underestimate you?"_

"Yes," Archer said, with confidence he didn't feel. Shran threw back his head and laughed, a rich timbre that shattered the silence. "You do, blue." 

Shran's left antennae twitched. _"Blue?_ Really, Jonathan?" He muttered.

Archer shrugged, "You call me pinkskin. It's only fair that you get a nickname too." 

"Fine." The word came out in a huff, and Archer nearly laughed at Shran's expression. He looked adorable.

"I hope you mean adorably _angry_ ," Shran remarked, putting exaggerated emphasis on the word anger, and it was then that Archer realized he had said it out loud. 

He looked at Shran, at his blonde, nearly white hair, his blue eyes, the contrast of his blue skin on Archer's tan. Shran loomed over him, like some big cat that was toying with its prey, and Archer found that he didn't mind being looked at like that - like he was both intriguing and desirable _(and edible, embarrassingly enough)_ \- as long as Shran was the one doing it. 

"Jon," Shran licked his lips, and Archer found himself following the movement with a single-minded focus, "What you think I want and what I actually want are two very different things. I know that you think you're forcing me to betray my culture, that being with you makes me less Andorian, but I want you to listen to me. I would burn the universe to ash if it meant I could be with you."

"That's both romantic and unsettling." Shran cracked a smile at that, and Archer felt his heart race at the sight. 

"I took a few cues from your human movies. I figured you'd appreciate a flair for the dramatic." 

"Well, _Commander."_ He noticed Shran's gaze darken at his usage of the term. "I do appreciate it." 

"Good. I'm glad." His voice sounded rough, and while Archer was tempted to press up into him and show _exactly_ how deep his appreciation ran, Porthos jumped up onto the bed, settling between them, oblivious. 

"Why does your dog keep interrupting us?" Shran groaned, his frustration evident, scowling when Porthos licked his cheek. 

"He probably thinks you're going to give him more treats." Shran scowled harder but did not deny the accusation, muttering instead about " _pinkskins and their easily attached pets,"_ all while giving Porthos five more treats than he technically was allowed. Archer let it slide. 

Porthos yawned, settling up against Shran's arm. Archer followed suit. A soft "Go to sleep, Jon," was murmured into his hair, and he did. 

They were assigned a joint mission. Admiral Forrest didn't look at Shran with suspicion but rather with delight, saying, "The Klavikishi already made contact with Andorians back in 2130. Commander Shran, I have no doubt that your presence will put them at ease for most of the negotiations." 

"I'm sure it will." He replied, his smile as artificial as Enterprise's lights. Archer could see his clenched jaw, the sound of his teeth grinding nearly audible from a few feet away (and judging by T'Pol's flinch, a rare expression of discomfort, it was for her). 

"Captain, Commander," Forrest looked at them both, his jovial expression hardening into something more serious, "Negotiations start at 0800 tomorrow, I expect both of you to be on your best behavior and to show a unified front between the Andorian Imperial Guard and Starfleet." 

"We will, sir." He stepped in, shooting a look at Shran, who stared ahead, stone-faced. He nodded, the transmission cut out, and he stalked out of the room, a blur of blue that moved too fast for Archer to follow. 

Shran was avoiding him, that much was clear. The reason behind it was murkier, and Archer couldn't seem to figure that out, no matter how many times he wracked his brain or banged his head on his desk. 

"Captain," T'Pol's face, full of carefully concealed concern, swam before him. "I would advise against hitting your head again. You need to be at full mental capacity for the delegation meeting tomorrow, and a concussion would be disadvantageous." 

"I'm not going to get a concussion, T'Pol. I'm fine." 

She raised an eyebrow in response, her expression disapproving, and Archer felt like he was ten again, standing in front of his mother to tell her he broke a plate. "Regardless, your energy would most likely be better spent talking to Commander Shran." 

Archer sighed. "He doesn't want to talk to me, and I don't know what I did to make him angry." 

"I do not think Commander Shran is angry at you, Captain, but rather the situation with the Klavikishi. He appeared uncomfortable when Admiral Forrest mentioned his direct involvement, and perhaps feels pressure to follow the correct social decorum to portray the Imperial Guard, and by extension, Andoria in a positive light." 

He stared at her. "Since when have you known Shran to follow correct social decorum?" 

T'Pol's lips twitched in annoyance, the gesture so subtle that Archer would have missed it if he hadn't worked with her for years. "You must consider that proper social decorum varies between cultures and species, Captain. By all accounts, Commander Shran is aggressive and overly emotional by both Human and Vulcan standards, yet, he responds to situations as he was directed to by his culture. He is the picture-perfect representation of Andorian behavior." 

"If you two are finished discussing me," Shran cut in, his voice cold, "I'd like to talk to Jonathan. _Alone."_

Deftly sidestepping the tension in the room, T'Pol promised to discuss the intricacies of the language - also called Klavikishi - and its multitude of dialects with Hoshi, and exited, leaving Archer alone with an irritated Shran. 

He appeared to take up much more space than he usually did in Archer's quarters, and not in the right way. There Shran _fit_ , curled up against the couch as though he had always belonged, but here his anger expanded, filling the room until it was heavy and almost tangible, pressing down against Archer's chest. 

"Are you done avoiding me?" The words were clipped and sounded bitter. He sighed, regretful having asked the question, and put his head back in his hands. 

"Are you done talking about me with your subordinates?" Shran responded. 

"T'Pol isn't a _subordinate_ , Thy'lek; she's my friend." Archer swallowed, staring up into his face. "Just talk to me, tell me what I did wrong." 

At that, tension bled out of Shran's body, and he slumped forward, looking exhausted. His skin was a pale blue, and _were those dark circles under his eyes? Could Andorians even get dark circles?_

"You didn't do anything wrong, but I don't like the Klavikishi. They can be _affectionate_ towards foreigners." He spit the word out with a sneer. 

"Are you saying that you're jealous and worried I'm going to get flirted with?" Archer said slowly, the realization dawning upon him. 

Shran scoffed. "No. Why would I be upset over such a thing?" His response came out just a little too quickly. _Liar._

"You are." A grin overtook his face, and try as he might, Archer laughed. " _Oh my God, you're jealous."_ At this, Shran attempted to school his expression into something less miffed, which only caused him to laugh harder. 

"I'm sorry, just give me a minute." He managed to choke out, knowing that his uncontrollable laughter was unbecoming of a captain. Somehow he couldn't care less.

Shran looked displeased. "If you're done?" He snapped, clearly annoyed. 

Archer bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to smile or worse - laugh again. 

"The Klavikishi are more familiar with Andorian expressions of affection. Casual touching is reserved for those in intimate relationships, unlike Terrans, who touch each other all the time for _no apparent reason."_

"I thought you got over Trip giving me a hug." Archer interjected. Shran glowered at him, hissing, "He shouldn't have had his hand so close to your ass." 

_"It was a hug."_ Archer repeated, an insane desire to laugh again bubbling up within him. The glare he received quelled that desire instantly. 

"As I was saying, they're more familiar with Andorian expressions of affection, so we need to practice our entrance. Take my arm." 

Archer acquiesced, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You just want an excuse to touch me." 

"Don't flatter yourself, Jonathan." The comment lacked bite, and Shran's cheeks turned darker as Archer ran his hand along the length of his arm, reveling in the feel of leather against his fingers. 

"Is that too affectionate?" He murmured, taking delight in Shran's erratic breathing. "I suppose I could always touch your hair or caress your antenna if we really need to prove we're together." 

"You'd get us arrested for public indecency." Shran's face was stained dark blue. 

"I doubt you would mind once I'm done with you." The implications of such a promise hung between them, and while it appeared that Shran wanted Nothing more than tackle him and make him do well on that promise _(and oh how Archer wanted to),_ the mission was, unfortunately, more important. 

They walked, Shran pointing out how to best move his feet ( _no, not like that, it's too Terran_ ) and keep his arm in _that position, don't fucking move it,_ and there were so many rules. Archer felt like his head was spinning from the sheer amount of etiquette required; apparently, the Klavikshi were _very particular._

Shran leveled a look at him when they had finally finished. "Don't fuck this up." He said. 

"Thanks for the encouragement. _"_

They got into bed, Porthos curled between them despite Shran's protests of " _you spoil your dog too fucking much, Jon, he needs to learn boundaries,"_ and Archer's responding " _if you didn't give him so many treats, Thy'lek, he wouldn't be up here."_ Casablanca was on - Shran's eyes were glued to it. Archer was far more content to watch him. 

"Why are Rick and Ilsa such _idiots_?" He yelled, enraged at their inability to " _fucking communicate with each other."_ Archer shrugged noncommittally. The gesture only irritated Shran more. 

"For the love of tzeha, is this why it took _saf_ for us to get together? Because you pinkskins are so fucking dense that you can't realize when someone is courting you?" 

"To be fair," Archer said, "Andorian and Human courting rituals are very different." Shran rolled his eyes. 

"That's not an excuse, and you know it. I was trying to court you before we were "sex-pollened," as you would say." He made a face at the wording but didn't argue at its crudity as he had previously. 

"Forgive me for not being aware of Andorian courting rituals." Archer remarked, and then hissed " _ow"_ as Porthos clawed at his leg. 

Shran's expression was smug. Archer wanted to kiss it off his face, desperately. 

After Casablanca ended, Shran said, in a tone that was almost _sad,_ "I can't believe they didn't get together." His voice caught at the end of his sentence. His eyes were slightly teary. 

"Thy'lek, are you _crying_?" 

"Fuck you, Jonathan." 

The morning dawned bright and early, and with it, Shran's anger. 

"I hate this already." He hissed, struggling into his Imperial Guard uniform. Archer opened his mouth, ready to comment on Shran's rumpled hair and dark blue cheeks, and decided against it. "Don't you dare say I'm adorable, Jonathan Archer, or I will maim you viciously." 

"If by maim you mean ravish, then go right ahead." 

Shran grinned at that, his covetous gaze roving up and down Archer's body, and a shiver ran down Archer's spine. He suddenly felt hot and pulled at his collar to cool down. Shran zeroed in at the moment. "I may have to take you up on that, pinkskin." 

They walked together, their arms linked, and Archer truly, sincerely hoped that he would not fuck this up. 

"You'll be fine," Shran said. Despite Andorians not being telepathic, he seemed to read Archer's mind with an astonishing amount of accuracy. "If anything, it's me they need to worry about." 

Archer blinked. "That's not helpful." 

Shran hummed in response. The sinking feeling in Archer's stomach grew. 

"Captain Archer." The leader of the Klavikishi delegation, a woman named K'ihlem, batted her eyelashes at him. She was, he supposed, pretty, with dark purple hair, skin the color of violet, and eyelashes that were five inches in length. 

"You live up to your reputation." Her pronunciation of _reputation_ , the rolled r, the crisp t, and the long, lingering look that came after made Archer want to fidget. She was flirting with him. 

"I'm just doing my job, Ambassador." K'ihlem stepped closer than strictly was necessary, her hands brushing along his shoulders, and she looked at him as though he were a bug under a microscope, fascinated.

"Your job involves keeping up with Andorians?" 

"Well, considering that Commander Shran and I are … together, yes." 

K'ihlem pursed her lips. "I'm surprised it's just you two. Andorians have four-partner marriages, and yet, the only partnership I see is between you and him." 

(+)Archer swallowed, shifting slightly. Her eyes widened, tyrian colored irises ablaze with interest, and more disconcertingly, lust. 

"Sub-Commander T'Pol - the Vulcan - and Commander Tucker are also involved in a romantic relationship." He said, feeling suddenly weak. His knees were jello, and he forced himself to continue standing. "Expressions of affection between Humans and Vulcans are different from Andorians." 

She smiled, leaning closer and Archer could smell something floral: almost like jasmine and honeysuckle. It made his head spin. "I'd like to become more familiar with the way humans express affection, Captain. Would you want to show me?" 

It was getting harder to breathe, much less think. "Ambassador, I don't think that has anything to do with our negotiations." 

"Surely we can come to an agreement, Captain." He was hot, _achingly, blisteringly_ hot. All he wanted to do was fall; keeping himself upright was impossible. 

"It's interesting," K'ihlem murmured, "you turn pink. Commander Shran's nickname for you was more accurate than I anticipated." 

_Shran._ Something was wrong, Archer realized, with horrible clarity. _Where was Shran?_

"I doubt he would be pleased by you referring to me by that." His attempt at humor fell flat, and K'ihlem smiled again, an indulgent expression that made her look terrifying. 

"He's right. I don't appreciate it." 

She turned, her smile widening even further. "Commander Shran. It's nice to see you again." 

"It's unfortunate that I can't say the same for you, K'ihlem." Shran's tone was acerbic. Archer didn't think he had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was talking to the Captain. He explained that Humans show affection differently. Isn't that fascinating?" She trailed her hand down Archer's chest, and Shran's eyes were glacial, frozen with fury. 

"Quite. However, I want you to take your hand off Captain Archer before I rip it off." K'ihlem raised a sardonic brow, giggling. 

"I was under the impression that since Andorian marriages involve four partners, you would be good at _sharing_." 

A growl emitted from Shran's throat, his chest was heaving. "Leave us alone. If you are extremely fortunate, Captain Archer will be his usual kind self and give you a second chance by negotiating. Somehow, I doubt that will happen. In fact, what will happen if you don't get your hand off him _this instant_ -" 

She sighed, stepping away and removing her hand. "You're no fun." 

(-)Once she left, Archer breathed, the air blessedly fragrance-free. Shran grabbed him by the arm, pulling him into an empty breakroom. 

"What happened?" His thoughts were jumbled, and Archer belatedly realized that Shran was jostling him in a desperate attempt to get him back on track. 

"K'ihlem was just flirting with me." The words tumbled over each other as they came out. Shran wasn't buying it. 

"That was not just _flirting_ , Jonathan. You could barely hold yourself up, and I know for a fact that you received a sufficient amount of sleep last night; fatigue isn't that pervasive." He stiffened and said slowly, "I'm going to _kill_ her." 

"I think you're overreacting." Archer protested, full of unease that he didn't want to acknowledge. 

"I most certainly am not. She used pheromones to make you more compliant." Archer's mind went blank. "I will kill her slowly and painfully, she called you _fascinating,_ like you were some _toy_ -" He cut himself off, seething. 

"Hey, look at me. I'm fine. Nothing bad happened." He said, somewhat weakly. 

Shran glared at him. "Nothing _bad happened? Are you insane?"_ His voice rose, and Archer winced, paranoid and fearful that T'Pol (and the Klavikishi) would overhear. 

"She targeted you specifically, Jonathan. You don't smell like you belong to anyone, and _fuck, I should have known this would have happened."_

"What do you mean, I don't smell like I belong to anyone?" Archer's mind was still stuck on that part, and he voiced it accordingly. 

Shran's nostrils flared. "The Klavikishi use pheromones to determine suitable mates. If you don't smell like anyone, they'll think you're unmated." 

"And you didn't think to tell me this?" Archer asked, incredulous. "You didn't think to mention that this alien race that y _ou've_ already had contact with could use pheromones to _fuck with me_?" 

"I didn't think it would happen." He admitted, his antenna drooping. "Jonathan, I swear, I -" He cut himself off again, sighing deeply. 

"I'm sorry." 

Things went silent after that. He could hear Shran breathing, attempting to calm himself down, and as badly as Archer wanted to extrapolate himself from the situation, from all of it, he remained. 

"I should have told you earlier." Shran finally said. "You were already so stressed, and I just, I thought that if I were _there,_ things would have gone swimmingly. That's already proven to be incorrect." 

"You can't control everything, Thy'lek. _But_ ," Archer continued, willing Shran to listen, "I need you to tell me about these things. We can't be together if we hide things from each other, particularly if it involves missions." 

He could see Shran perk up against a rail, peering at him. "You're not breaking up with me?" The question came out hoarsely, and he was suddenly aware of how vulnerable Shran, well, Shran and his relationship, was in that instant. His heart _ached_ at the thought of his life without Shran in it. 

"No, I'm not. If you pull a stunt like this again, though, I will." 

"I won't." Shran looked at him like he was something to be treasured and handled with the utmost care. "I swear, Jon. The idea of you getting hurt because of me, and that comment K'ihlem made about _sharing_ -" 

The metal rail was hard, but Shran pressed down harder, his hands warping it into something unusable, and Archer _really_ wished that Shran's strength wasn't as much of a turn-on as it was. Unfortunately, some part of his treacherous brain enjoyed it, and he held up his hands, attempting to placate his angry, possessive-as-hell Andorian boyfriend.

"Want me all to yourself?" He teased, his tone coming out breathless. Shran snarled.

"I want to fuck you through the wall."

_Oh. Well then._

Archer was pretty sure his heart stopped beating for a minute - all of the blood in his body rushed down between his legs - and he was _hard, harder than he had ever been in his life_ , including when they were both contaminated with _saf_. "You're really in the mood for make-up sex?" 

"Are you?" 

"I did say you could ravish me." 

A purr. "Oh, believe me, I plan to," and then Shran was in front of him, and they were _kissing,_ a furious tangle of teeth and tongues. Archer found himself pressed up against a glass wall, Shran's cooler body pressed against his own, just as aroused as he was. He rolled his hips, chasing friction with almost blinding need, and Shran followed with an unadulterated twist of his hips that made Archer moan. 

He leaned his head back, giving Shran access to his neck. That sinfully cool mouth glided across it, sucking and licking and biting with no regard for propriety, and Archer, like many things that came with Shran, found himself encouraging it. Shran scraped his teeth along an exceptionally sensitive spot that made Archer's toes curl and his knees weak, and he covered his mouth to muffle the embarrassing sound that would have come out. 

"I want them to hear you, Jonathan. I want them to know you're mine." He sucked down on that spot, smiling when Archer let out a choked, " _Fuck, Thy' lek"_ and shoved his thigh between Archer's legs. 

It was torture: exquisite, blissful torture. Archer felt as though he could have remained that way forever, teetering on the edge of _just-too-much_ and _not-enough._ Shran kept touching him, kissing and nibbling at his ears and collarbone, attacking his neck, angling his thigh so Archer could grind against it like a teenager. His attempts at touching Shran were rebuffed, and he whined ( _God)_ , and then sobbed when cold fingers teased the outline of his erection through his pants. 

"I- I want," He rasped, his voice catching, his mind blank, "your hands. Thy'lek _please,_ I can't stand it." 

"You mean you want this?" A thumb rubbed circles against the head, and Archer jerked forward at the maddening sensation. 

"It's not enough," Shran smirked at that. He unbuttoned Archer's pants and shoved them, along with his underwear, down with a swift tug, rubbing deliberately slow circles, his index finger running up the slit.

"Better?" 

"I'd like it better if you _touched me_." Archer snapped and cried out hoarsely as Shran's fingers wrapped around him, his cool hand feeling sublime against pulsing, hard heat. Shran pressed his forehead against Archer's, his hand moving faster and faster at an almost unbearable speed, his other hand burrowed in Archer's hair. 

"Look at you." He breathed, "You - _fuck, Jon."_ Words forgotten, he dove for Archer's lips, kissing him ferociously. His hand twisted, the thumb sliding and rubbing circles on the sensitive head of Archer's cock as he continued jerking him off. 

"I don't want anyone else to see you like this. Only me." Archer would have done anything for him, _as long as he kept touching him like that, please,_ to which Shran replied, " _always"_ and redoubled his efforts. 

He could feel his orgasm building, a low throb of pleasure that reached a swelling crescendo and clawed his nails down Shran's back, messily kissing him, a thread of saliva connecting their lips once they separated. Archer _needed_ him like he needed oxygen to breathe, and thrust against Shran's hand, gasping "I'm close." 

"Do it. Let them see that no one else can make you feel the way I do, _fuck_ \- "Shran moaned, biting his collarbone, and Archer _shattered,_ pleasure rushing through him to the point where he felt like a live wire, jerking once, twice, and then falling limp. 

"You look pleased with yourself," he said, once the blood rushed back to his brain, and Shran did, licking Archer's come off his fingers lazily. His dick twitched at the sight. 

"Do you want me to use my mouth or anything to help you?" Blue eyes met hazel, and Shran flushed, arching into him when Archer stroked his antenna, the other hand worming its way into his pants. 

"That's it," he murmured, relishing in the bucking of Shran's hips. He ran his finger along Shran's left antennae, leaning forward to enclose it in his mouth, and then wrapped his hand around the right one. 

Shran let out a strangled " _fuck,"_ grinding his hips against Archer's hand. He looked deliciously overwhelmed, moving in tandem with Archer's hands, his body a long line of fluid movement. 

"I want to fuck you." The words came out before Archer could even think them through, and Shran grew harder, a feat that Archer thought was impossible. 

"I want to make you quiver and moan and scream. I want you to rake your nails down my back since it feels so good. I want you to lay back and _take it_." Shran's gaze _burned_ , and he leaned forward to kiss him.

"If anything, you'll be the one taking it." He growled. "Once we leave, I'm going to tie you to the bed, and I'm going to sink down onto your cock, and I'm going to ride you until you _cry_ , and all you can do is take it." 

_"Fuck."_ Archer groaned, hopelessly aroused. Shran grinned. 

"That's the point." His grin was replaced with a moan, and a " _Jon, fuck, right there, do that."_ He twisted his hand, mimicking what Shran had done to him. Shran's back _arched,_ his body taut, and he came, panting softly.

Shran kissed him, gently this time, his gaze tender. "I think we should call off negotiations." 

"I think that's an excellent idea, Commander." 

Negotiations hadn't started due to their prolonged absence, but Archer couldn't find it within himself to care. 

"T'Pol, Trip, Hoshi. Over here." He called out, gesturing for them to come over into an empty breakroom _(not that one). T'Pol_ eyed him critically, and Archer knew he didn't look very presentable. 

"Cap'n, is that a _hickey?"_ Trip's easy-going voice rose an octave in disbelief. 

"We're calling off negotiations." Shran said, running his hands through his thoroughly-mussed hair in a useless effort to calm it down. Hoshi blushed at the sight of them, her eyes lingering on the vivid marks on Archer's neck. 

"Elaborate." T'Pol's tone was calm. Archer could see Shran's hackles rise. 

"K'ihlem, the leader, attempted to use her pheromones on me to make me compliant. She wanted to _experience_ Human expressions of affection, and I guess I was supposed to be her guinea pig." 

Hoshi and Trip's eyes widened, as did T'Pol's, albeit fractionally. 

"Cap'n, are you saying that you got contaminated with sex pollen _again_?" asked Trip, whose hands were clenched into fists. 

"Jesus," Archer muttered, "Is there anyone who doesn't know about that?" At the same time, Shran stepped forward, teeth bared, "It's not sex pollen, you idiot, it's called _saf -"_

"Do you need to go to medical, Captain?" Hoshi cut in, concerned. 

"I'm fine, Hoshi." He waved her off, continuing his explanation. "Anyway, she did it because I didn't smell like anyone. She thought I was unmated." 

"Captain," T'Pol's lips were pursed, "there are certain lines one does not cross, regardless of species. Assault is one of them." She gestured towards Shran, "Commander Shran is Andorian, a species known for its proclivity towards sexual violence, yet even he did not assault you."

"I'm glad to know you have that much faith in me, Sub-Commander." 

"Wait," Archer could see the wheels turning in Trip's head, his initial confusion giving way, "why weren't Hoshi or me attacked like that then?" 

"It's because you're with the _Vulcan,"_ to his credit, Shran managed to temper his sneer, "and - wait, why weren't pheromones used on you?" He turned to Hoshi, voicing the question that appeared in everyone's minds. 

Hoshi turned pink, her brown eyes falling to the ground. "I've been seeing someone for a few months now." 

"Oh," said Archer, "Um, congratulations." 

"Thanks, Captain." 

He cleared his throat. "Well, this has been incredibly awkward. T'Pol, can you contact transport? I want to get out of here." 

"Agreed." Shran, Trip, and Hoshi echoed. Shran slipped his hand into his, his fingers interlaced with Archer's own, and they remained that way, a lingering phantom cold that followed him even as his body dissolved into molecules, traveling through space. 

The sensation of being tangible again was always disconcerting, a dizzying mix of stretching and compressing as the molecules in his body rearranged one by one. Shran looked at him and grasped his hand harder. 

"Let's go." 

Shran collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily. "Fuck." 

"I concur." Archer gasped, his arms and legs straining against black rope that was keeping him immobilized. Shran had done precisely as he said he would, pinning him to the bed - he had somehow acquired rope (and from where Archer didn't want to think about, but he had a feeling T'Pol had something to do with it) - tying him up hastily and sunk down onto his cock, agonizingly slow. He had been helpless, thrusting up into warm wet heat that enveloped him, tight as a glove, and had no choice but to thrust harder as Shran moved faster and faster, snarling, _"Don't come before me, Jon, you need to wait."_

After what felt like an eternity, Shran keened, riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, and _oh, he was beautiful._ He made Archer beg and plead before he came " _Thy'lek, please, just let me,"_ and then Archer fell back, boneless and satisfied. 

"I'll undo your binds," Shran's cold hands felt like a salve, and Archer turned blindly towards him. "Here, let me get some lotion." 

He let Shran rub lotion on his arms and legs, taking no small amount of comfort in the way that Shran treated him before rolling him into his side, his arms wrapped around Archer's waist. 

"I have a report - " Shran's grip tightened. "We can fill the report out later, we can talk to Admiral Forrest together," at that, Archer winced, not fond of the idea of his former mentor hearing about their shenanigans, "but right now, you need to sleep." 

"You're staying here? Shouldn't you be back on the _Zletha_ for a rendezvous with your fellow Imperial Guard members?" Archer asked. Shran burrowed against him further, his mouth tickling the back of Archer's neck. 

"I'll always be here." 

Something fond bloomed within his chest, and Archer couldn't find it within himself to argue, so he pulled up the blankets to cover both himself and Shran. The room was quiet, Shran's soft breathing was the only sound, and his eyes suddenly felt heavy. Sleep seemed like an excellent idea; he thought drowsily. 

And tangled up with each other, they did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the tonal whiplash and some angst, I literally just wanted to write hot make-up sex and somehow my feelings got involved. 
> 
> As always, I am in need of a beta, so _please_ don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any criticisms regarding my writing, or if you caught any grammatical errors! Thanks.


End file.
